


Great Lakes

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 7x17, Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>warnings for very minor non-con. Dean/Cas, Dean/Emmanuel. 7x17 coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great Lakes

**Author's Note:**

> I still think what 7x17 did is the worst thing i've ever seen in my life. Inspired by the song "To Be Alone With You" by Sufjan Stevens.

He pulls over to the side of the road.

Beside them a long slope leads to the waters, their black, oily sheen staring up at the car. Dean drops forward; lets his forehead hit the wheel. He breathes.

Then he lifts his head, learns over, and takes the passenger’s face in his hands.

Emmanuel – Cas – he doesn’t fucking know – struggles in his grip. “Dean?” he says, like he doesn’t know if that’s the right  _name;_ Dean holds on tighter. Forces him to turn, to face him.

He wants to kiss him, this blank, expressionless man.

He wants to tear him apart with his nails.

Dean presses closer and Emmanuel pulls away – the wool of his sweater rasps against the seat, then against the car door when he pulls as far back as he can manage, pressing his back to the car window, his hands gripping the seat. “Dean – “ and Dean, at a loss for anything else, surges forward to kiss him, and it is nothing –  _nothing –_ like before.

This is  _tabula rasa;_ factory reset. He’s a page unused, a blank sheet, and everything Dean ever wrote on that body; ever kissed against its hollows, ever sucked onto its planes; is gone.

He doesn’t pull away; he pushes harder, kisses him harder, his nose pressing roughly into Emmanuel’s cheek. He smells different; like his wife’s house, like incense and candle-wax. When they stopped at a gas station, twenty minutes earlier, he  _ate,_ and Dean watched him in churlish silence, saying nothing when asked what was wrong. He pulls back slightly, but doesn’t let go of his face. Watches his eyes for recognition.

“Dean, I’m  _married.”_  Emmanuel whispers, timid like Castiel never was, never would be, and the breath that escapes Dean in the next second is harsh and broken – it hangs starkly between them, and he is leant over the seats, the gear shift pressing uncomfortably against his stomach. Emmanuel is drawn up as far as he can go; is hunched against the window, and staring, eyes wide and _terrified_ of what Dean might do to him next.

The fight goes out of him in one long, desperate wave. He feels it.

“No you’re not.” He mutters, because it doesn’t make a difference, now, and he can feel the choke, the heat of tears building in the back of his throat. He swallows and it is like gargling knives.

He drops his head against Emmanuel’s chest, as unfamiliar as everything else about him. His body the same but his clothes different, his movements strange.

In all this time he’s never been more angry, and yet he can hardly move. 

Emannuel lifts a hand and threads it through the hair at the back of his neck. He mutters, “Dean,” again, and it’s the worst thing Dean’s ever heard.

“It’s okay.”

And it doesn’t seem fair that he should forget – doesn’t seem fair that Castiel is clean linen, now, with a life, a  _wife,_ a community – when Dean is patchwork, always had been, and is fraying more rapidly with each fucking loss, each fucking  _day._

He pulls himself jerkily away. He settles himself again in his seat. Eyes front. He starts the car.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, quiet so his voice won’t betray him, won’t break. Emmanuel’s sad, pitying eyes are fixed on the side of his face.

“it’s alright.”

And Dean thinks,  _no it isn’t._

And Dean says, “Yeah. I know.”


End file.
